


Meetings

by Das_Silberschlussel



Series: Storm-Green Eyes [1]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Demigod Zolfus Smith, God/Worshiper AU, Zolf is a god of craftsmen and artisans, art as prayer, no beta we die like bertie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28293123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Das_Silberschlussel/pseuds/Das_Silberschlussel
Summary: A series of first meetings of a demigod on the edge of apotheosis and someone he has decided deserves both his protection and attention.
Relationships: Zolf Smith & Oscar Wilde, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Series: Storm-Green Eyes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072505
Comments: 16
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunny_jordy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunny_jordy/gifts).



Zolfus first met Wilde on the banks of a river.

The day had been beautiful. Bright green grass of the countryside echoed by the crystal blue of the sky. A perfect compliment to the red suit of the brown haired teen who reclined near the banks of a creek with a sketchbook in hand. The saturation of the color brought out the curiosity in the demigod as he walked forward, his bare feet sinking into the loamy ground as silently he approached the teen who was carefully moving a charcoal stick across the pages in his hands.

Zolfus leaned around the tree, trying to get a glance at the lines as they were pulled across the page, creating a near perfect likeness of the world around him. Zolfus felt himself being pulled towards the drawing, he could almost see the wind racing through the blades of grass in that drawing. A smile crossed his lips, this boy was the perfect target for his ministrations -- his gifts as a soon to be god and guardian of artisans.

He wouldn't be the same as the sculptor who took his blessed waters and used them to shape stone, or as the shipwright whose boats were blessed by the waters to weather all storms. This teen would be able to use the water to bring drawings of the world around him to a second life. Images and portraiture were just as useful a skill as lifting or hammering, and Zolfus nodded before carefully reaching over to touch the boy's forehead.

He touched him, carefully, gently, barely making contact to place the blessing before the boy looked up in confusion.

Zolfus caught the leaf-green look in the artist's eyes: shock and surprise at the interruption, and perhaps at the touch. His own storm-green echoed back as much of a calming radiance as he could manage before he retracted his hand and vanished into the cloak of his divinity.

"Who?" the boy asked to what he saw as only empty air before reaching up to his own forehead in confusion.


	2. Chapter 2

Oscar met Zolfus for the first time near a well in the center of his birth city – a city he would leave but never forget.

The well was a place he would frequent, a place for the holy to worship and for children to play at appeasing the sidhe of the surrounding hills and underground.

Oscar was in his late teen years and he knew of all of the tales that said any well could be a wishing well if you frequented it enough. There wasn't any art to the creating of wishing wells, only the intent that you gave them. And it didn't hurt to know the local legends. However, this particular well was getting a reputation for one that couldn't be poisoned, and it happened to be the well that gave the best colors for his paints and inks. As his art had progressed significantly over the past years his tutors would consistently push him away from the creative arts but the thoughts and dreams of sea-green eyes always made him reach for the brush some sort of creativity blooming into being.

His mother was the one who suggested that he give something back to the god that watched over him; he hadn't thought that he was touched by a god, but superstitions had a fantastical nature to them and wells were for wishing.

He spent time crafting the piece: words and images to craft across the parchment something that was both a prayer and a request and a gift. For once his tutors saw the attention to detail he placed in this work, stretching his fingers out across the meticulously placed words to describe a vision that he had long since assumed was nothing more than a dream brought on by the idyllic location and the loose light trance of his own work.

When he fed the well, a small slip of paper curling and twisting as it fell. The fruits of his weeks of labor gone into the waters and underground spaces of the well that was god touched.

“Is this what you truly want?” a voice said as Oscar turned to leave.

He spun around to look at the well to see a man he already towered over. The man was dressed simply, like one of the poorer men in, sea-silk hair pulled back and lashed from the wind above and below storm-green eyes he had only seen in his dreams and that had decorated many corners of drawings that only his eyes had ever seen.

“Yes.” Oscar managed in a puff of breath.

The man...the god, nodded before his touch of divinity turned him to water which flowed back into the well.


	3. Chapter 3

Oscar Wilde met Zolfus for the first time at the docks.

He was boarding a boat to England and was dreaming of new adventures with his employment forms under his arms and a trunk rolling on behind him. He was already working on the mental layers of his next piece in his mind. The sea would have its place, as would this boat. He could see the sweeping gestures in his mind as he stopped on the plank.

“Ya have to get all the way on.” a blond dwarf said as he reached around the young man and took his trunk without a second thought.

“Oh, sorry.” Oscar said as he moved to the side barely realizing his trunk had been taken and passed onto another one of the crew. His thoughts were somewhere else, lost in the light sway of the boat as the waves lifted it slightly in its mooring.

“Do you think it will be stormy.” Oscar heard someone ask one of the deckhands.

“I'm sure it won't be.” the deckhand replied in a voice that made Oscar stop to seek out who was talking. “The captain has Poseidon's favor.”

Oscar eyed the blond dwarf, trying to place the voice that he was sure he remembered from a meeting near a well, or perhaps a dream.

“You just going to stand there?” The dwarf said looking over at him, “It might not be stormy, but it'll be overnight at best, you should go below.” he thumbed to the doorway that led downstairs, his storm-green eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Are you?” Oscar began to ask, the question evident in his tone before the dwarf was called away, leaving Oscar to stand confused and trying to connect the dots of this newest appearance.


	4. Chapter 4

Wilde met Zolfus for the first time in Upper London, a city crowded by the rain.

The umbrella Wilde had been clutching in the press had its canopy torn forcibly away, leaving the well dressed meritocratic agent to walk in the rain with only the shaft of the contraption in his hand like a mutilated walking stick. Wilde's anger had only been frozen out by the chill of the torrential rain that had not wasted any time to slip inside his collar and begin to actively soak through the layers of fashionable wool he wore.

He was a man of society and here he was standing singularly in the rain, thankfully unjostled in the crowd, but likewise unaided.

When the rain stopped pouring into his eyes, he managed to look up at the new canopy of another umbrella the color of the sky. The shaft of his own umbrella being slipped from his hand.

“If you're trying to stay dry, standing alone in the rain, holding a coat closed wont do much.” a voice said, drawing his gaze lower to find a blond dwarf holding the umbrella out in offering. The dwarf's clothes were soaked fully through, but his skin and hair seemed to be utterly untouched.

Only after Wilde had taken the umbrella did he turn to thank the man, but he had already walked off into the rain. Had that man had the same storm-green eyes he had been seeing since his youth?

“Congratulations on your new position.” the rain seemed to say in that same voice, “I can't wait to read your next piece of writing.”

Wilde stopped again on the pathways of Upper London. It had to be the same person, his hands tingled as he looked at the umbrella, had he just been given an umbrella by a god?


	5. Chapter 5

Oscar's first words of worship were shouted into a storm.

He had been tossed from the deck of a ship to the roiling sea below, in that plummet he cast a pleading, broken voice into the storm for the eyes of storm-green and a name on his lips in a language he didn't truly know or understand.

He threw these words into the storm with a piece of magic that he had once harnessed to write words on parchment and paint pictures by creeks. He threw the words of desperate devotion and pleaded for protection as the wind and waves took his body in the crashing tempest.

His mouth filled with water as he struggled through the shock of the impact and the frigid temperature.

Oscar was barely conscious when he felt the water be pushed from his lungs and a soft pressure push into his lips before the taste of air filling his lungs brought him to the edge of clarity. He saw through the salt of the sea water storm-green eyes and white blond hair fanned out behind the god who had saved him.

He washed up on a beach later, memories of those eyes and that life-giving kiss still fresh in his mind. His fingertips trailed across his lower lip as he thought of that moment. And lifted his gaze out to sea, realizing that the air didn't smell of the salt of the waves, but of the creek he drew at as a child.

He noticed a mark on his forearm through the torn fabric of his jacket: a creek he hadn't returned to in years


	6. Chapter 6

“I don't even know who you are” Oscar manages out the next time he meets Zolfus for the first time.

“Does it matter?” the figure asks as he plunges the clothing he is washing back under the soapy water.

Oscar lounges nearby, twirling a paintbrush in one hand absently. “It does.” he responds. “I want to know you.”

A blond eyebrow raises above storm-green eyes as the motions of washing stops. Zolfus looks at the tall man he had decided to protect all those years ago.

“You're an artist, and a poet, and a writer, and a you hold the music of creation in you. I'm part of your audience.” Zolfus returns to the washing, letting his hands prune in the moisture and burn with the lye of the soap.

“But I don't even know your name or anything about you.”

“That rarely stops you, Wilde.”

Wilde doesn't even have the decency to blush, but instead he drifts off mentally capturing this image for painting later. “I never wanted to before now.” he whispers, finally voicing the thing he had been thinking for weeks.

“That's what I thought.” Zolfus says as he sits down beside Wilde. “You gave me your life, Wilde.” he reaches over and pulls Wilde to face him with a tug of the taller man's lapels. “I intend to ensure that it is long.”

The heat of a blush crosses Wilde's cheeks, partially from the surprise and partially from the memory of that storm tossed kiss.

“I'm Zolfus, I suppose you can call me that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am reading the following:
> 
> Sunny_Jordy: where is my god zolf/worshiper wilde fic.................
> 
> Well then, I suppose I can work with that :Hypereyes:


End file.
